


That Place Between Sleep and Waking

by LadyLoec



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, MAAS Sarah J. - Works
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Succubi & Incubi, Bodice-Ripper, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gothic, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Virginity, Romanticism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 16:31:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18056075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLoec/pseuds/LadyLoec
Summary: Elain Archeron is demure, innocent, and engaged to be married. During the hottest summer in recent memory, a shadowy figure appears in her bedroom, stealing a chaste kiss. Soon she finds herself craving his icy touch, and when she discovers clues to his origins that should frighten her, she instead finds herself more and more drawn to the darkness.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is very influenced by gothic novels and films (think Bram Stoker's Dracula, Crimson Peak etc). It is sensual and vivid - style over substance, heavy handed with the metaphors etc. I've never written anything like it before and likely won't again, but the idea has been haunting me for a while and I had to get it out of my system. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading my little foray into gothic fantasy!
> 
> (NB: standard disclaimer - not my characters, just playing in Sarah's sandbox for a while)

Moonlight cascaded through the balcony doors and across the floor. The summer had been unbearably hot, and even Elain (who normally relished the changing seasons) had taken to sleeping with the doors and windows thrown wide, heavy drapes cast aside, in as thin a shift as could be deemed decent. It was so hot, in fact, that were it not unthinkably improper, she might even have eschewed it entirely. The prospect of sleeping nude like some wanton savage offended her delicate sensibilities, but in weather like this, even she could admit to seeing the appeal. Despite the open doors and windows, not a breath of wind stirred the air, not even enough to disturb the white muslin that hung around her four poster bed, and her sheets were already damp with sweat. 

 

Elain was just thinking that at this rate, she wouldn't get a wink of sleep, when she thought she saw something flash in the light. She cast her eyes to the window. It had been barely perceptible - like a shadow against the dim glow of the moon. Probably just a moth or bat or something passing the window, she reasoned. It seemed she wasn't even nearing sleep if her senses were so on edge. Then another dark flutter caught her eye. She felt a soft, cool breeze kiss her skin then, and she instantly closed her eyes and moaned with relief, muslin curtains sighing as they drifted. Thank all the forgotten gods for such small mercies as a summer breeze. 

 

Her eyes snapped open again and she sat bolt upright at the sound of her floorboards creaking softly, as if barely touched. It was a quiet sound - too quiet to be an intruder of any kind, or even an animal, but enough to alert her of a presence. Instinctively, she drew her sheet up to cover herself. Her eyes darted around the room but there was nothing to be seen. Again, the floorboards creaked gently, the sound seeming nearer this time. She could have sworn... _There_. Barely visible, a soft wisp of shadow against the bold moonlight. Elain looked for what might be casting it, but there was no solid form to be seen. And still it inched closer, now only a few feet from her. Panic rose in her and she thought about screaming, but as soon as the thought had formed, a cool tendril of the shadow curled against her face. It should have frightened her, but she got the impression the gesture was somehow meant to offer comfort, and in the devastating summer heat, it was soothing. She dropped the sheet she was clutching, leaving it to pool at her waist. The tendril seemed to splay phantom fingers across her cheek before dissipating, leaving her leaning in to the non-existent touch. Her breath had quickened initially with panic, but was now deep with something unfamiliar. 

 

She could no longer see the shadow, impossible to distinguish it from those cast by the objects in her room. Then she felt it: That same chilled touch, this time at her neck. She shuddered as a breath of it danced over her ear, before skimming over the fabric over nightgown. A light, cool pressure that seemed to explored the curves of her body with a sentient curiosity. Her breath hitched as it rounded the curve of her breast, before dissipating once more. In spite of the cold sensation, she felt an odd heat building within her: An insistent force from within that at once felt pleasant and maddening. 

 

She felt ice dancing lightly at her neck, snaking up into her sweat-damp hair and caressing her scalp, and when a smoke-like wisp brushed against her mouth, it felt almost like a gentle kiss: As if moulded from lips cooled by a winter chill. It was barely the ghost of a touch, but her breath misted in the air and she felt drawn in to it, like it was pulling something from her very soul. Her stomach twisted and she felt her pulse quicken. 

 

Then as soon as it had started, it was gone. The air was still once more, and the moonlight undisturbed. The oppressive summer heat settled back over her, and she leaned back into the pillows, sighing as she finally fell asleep. 


	2. Chapter 2

Elain spent the next morning in a haze of confusion. Her strange dream had left her feeling unsettled - it had felt so real, and her cheeks had flushed scarlet when she had awoken to an embarrassing and improper dampness between her thighs. She was due to take a chaperoned walk with her fiancé today - a proper young gentleman of good breeding who certainly wouldn't accept such a wanton woman for a wife. She had taken a cold bath, hoping that the frigid water would banish any impure thoughts, but instead the temperature just made her think of the shadowy visitor in her dream. She bathed hurriedly and dressed to meet her betrothed.

"Lord Nolan, I hope you have not been waiting too long."  
He smiled cordially at her. He was a relatively handsome man, though none would quite call him dashing. Elain had found most suitors who were a match to her in social standing were much older than her, and so she was quite relieved when he had shown an interest. She would not have minded an age gap - it was almost expected for men to marry women several years their junior - but those who could afford to be choosy were often put off by her years spent in poverty (though they were of course too polite to say so, Elain had learned to spot the particular way such men looked down on her).   
"Not at all, Miss Archeron. I had just arrived myself." He offered her his arm, and Elain gave a small upturn of her lips in return. To smile more widely would not be seemly. "I had thought, since now we are to be wed, you might call me Graysen."  
Inside, Elain beamed. "Only if you are also to call me Elain."  
"Of course, Elain. Shall we?" He gestured and they commenced their walk.

It was blisteringly hot, and Elain was glad for the shade of the trees. Their chaperone followed discretely enough behind that she almost felt they were alone. They talked mostly about trivial things, but she felt herself stiffen when he spoke with such venomous hatred of the fae and with such pride of the arsenal his father had accumulated. She was glad they had nearly circled the lake, so this topic couldn't persist for too long. She had not heard from her sister Feyre since she left for Prythian, and it was likely she had perished on her return to the harsh land beyond the wall, but she knew from experience that the fae could be kind as well as cruel. After all, Graysen would not be considering her as a bride were it not for the extravagant gifts from Feyre's fae benefactor (though if he knew the true source of their wealth, he likely still would not entertain the notion). Elain had been horrified to think what manner of activities outside of wedlock had encouraged such generosity, but her sister had always been... free with her affections; her tawdry dalliance with the Hale boy was hardly discreet. The fae were rumoured to be deviants and hedonists, so perhaps Feyre's improper courtship was quite the norm above the wall. She thought for a moment maybe her sister was still alive, and thriving in a society far more suitable for her proclivities.

"Oh would you listen to me, blathering on. All this talk of weapons and war must be quite the bore for my lady. Especially since I have quite forgotten my manners and haven't even bestowed your engagement ring yet."   
He fumbled on his pocket and Elain sucked in a breath as he pulled out a small, velvet box. When he had proposed, he had begged her patience as his late grandmother's ring had been sent for cleaning and resizing. She had been dying to know what it looked like. As he snapped the box open, her heart made a dull thudding sound. The stone was beautiful and immaculately cut... But her eyes refused to deviate from the dull iron of the wedding band.

She had known his family were fanatical in their hatred of fae, but she didn't know that it went this far. On top of the inclusion of such an icon of hatred in what should have been a pure symbol of their union, she couldn't help but be reminded of the iron bars of a prison - something the Nolan family's estate resembled at the best of times. She had quietly hoped that once Graysen's father passed away and the estate was left to him, she might be able to convince him to dispense with the eyesore of a wall that cut off the compound from the living green fields and beautiful views, but this put paid to that notion. She must have been silent too long, as Graysen commented.  
"Is it not to your liking."  
"No, I mean yes of course." She tried her best to mask how flustered she was. "Forgive me, I was just stunned. It is such a striking ring."  
"I am relieved to hear it." He slid the ring onto her finger and she could have sworn she heard it click into place like a lock. It felt heavy and obtrusive and... Just wrong. She forced her features into a smile. "I only pray it is not too long before it is joined by the second band that marks us as man and wife." He placed a wet kiss onto her fingers, earning a chastising 'cough' from their chaperone. It was the most intimate touch they had shared, but all Elain could think was whether that second band would also be iron.  
"I feel the same." She offered another bland smile, which he took at face value. As they approached their carriages, they bid a chaste farewell, and once she was certain her carriage had passed out of his sight, she slumped inelegantly, eyeing the manacle-like ring with no small amount of disdain all the way home.


	3. Chapter 3

Though the heat was less stifling than previous nights, it was still unseasonably warm. A storm was needed to ease the humidity that left any and all fabric sticking to the skin. It had been weeks since it last rained, and only earlier today Elain had lamented to Nesta that the garden was starting to wilt with the lack of it. However, it had been a trying day for her and she was closer to sleep after only a few minutes than hours of tossing and turning had yielded the previous night. The only reason she wasn't asleep was that she had scratched her face twice already on the burdensome ring. She had contemplated taking it off, lest she scar herself inadvertently, but deep down she knew it would only be an excuse, and she had to get used to wearing it. Graysen would have good reason to be less than accommodating or understanding of a wife who refused to wear the ring identifying her status - it hinted at a desire for infidelity.

 

Her breathing was slowing and she was drifting into sleep when she heard a recognizable creak of the floorboards. Eyelids heavy, she slowly dragged them open, watching as familiar wisps of shadow coalesced on the floor. Recognising that she was simply dreaming again (though irritated with her own apparent lack of decorum for her imaginings taking this turn once more), she didn't jolt upright as she had before, but instead lazily rolled to face the open balcony. This time, however, something was different. Instead of approaching tentatively and furtively, those shadows seemed to take on form: An unmistakably _male_ form. He was still insubstantial, and she couldn't make out any details of his colouring or other characteristics, but the silhouette was broad and powerfully built - masculine, but not intimidatingly so. It was worlds apart from Graysen's boyish figure, which whilst it wasn't unattractive, was rather gangly and hinted that he had never done a day's manual work in his life. It was unseemly, but when Elain indulged in a romantic novel, she had always imagined someone more muscular: Like the silhouette now standing before her in the moonlight.

 

He (now she could say with certainty it was a 'he') prowled towards her on whisper-quiet steps, disappearing as he stepped through patches of pure darkness between moonbeams and reappearing on the other side like oil dispersed in water. His face was still obscured even as he loomed closer, and as Elain peered through the gloom, she could discern nothing of his features. It surprised her when he sat beside her and his weight pressed into the bed. How could a shadow given form have mass?

 

She sat up to face her visitor, and this time when his cool hands cupped her cheek, sliding down her neck, his form brushed up against her - his chest to her chest, his hip to her hip - and she shivered in her wanting, a searing heat within her contrasting with icy touches without. Dark hair brushed her forehead as a wispy kiss danced on her lips, before trailing like a flurry of snowflakes down her neck, culminating in a cool sensation of lips against her clavicle, and she felt a deep ache between her legs. His body pressed insistently against her and she let herself be pushed back, his weight sinking her deep into the soft mattress. She felt his thigh ease between hers and moaned softly at the relief the pressure there afforded her. When the shadows began to writhe atop her, his thigh writhing against her core, she thought she would explode from pure sensation. Tendrils of mist swirled hungrily along her sides, drinking in her curves as she surrendered to that delicious weight on top of her; her nipple peaked against the coarse fabric of her nightgown. Distantly, she knew she should be burning with shame, but all moral and rationality combusted under the skilled touch, and all she could think was _more_. 

 

She felt a glimmer of protest in the back of her mind at the indecency when the apparition's hands skimmed up her thigh, hiking her modest nightgown up to her waist, but all objections died in her throat when those tendrils brushed against her sodden undergarment with the same light pressure as his kiss, making her eyes roll back in pleasure. Those ghostly fingers found the edge of her underwear and slid down against her bare sex, causing her to moan desperately. They teased at her entrance as his tongue teased at her lips, dancing on the edge of her pleasure with maddening deftness. She swore she could feel his breath on her skin. Then in one swift motion, his hips plunged his fingers into her depths as his tongue sank into her mouth and she felt as if she could combust under his cool form. 

 

Elain knew the basic mechanics of the conjugal act, and had always found the whole notion distasteful. In fact, it was the one element of marriage she was outright dreading. She understood its necessity to produce a family, but the concept of rutting like livestock made her queasy. She hadn't been able to fathom how anything like that might be enjoyable.

Until now.

In this moment, with her spirit lover's weight on her, moving against her in rhythm with her pounding heart, shadowy fingers working in her, she felt lustful, wanton, womanly. She had never felt so alive, her body electrified. His mouth fell upon her bared throat and his thumb brushed her apex and she thought she must be dying to feel such rapture. Her breath came in shallow pants and she felt something tighten and rise inside her, like a symphony seeking its crescendo. Desperate to feel more of him in any way she could, she reached her hand to his shoulder to pull him in closer. 

 

The figure's shadowy skin sizzled and cracked where the iron band met his form and he pulled away harshly. He made no sound, but she could tell that the loathsome metal had hurt him. Before Elain could react, he dissipated. Like dandelion seeds dispersed in the wind, he was gone. She wanted to call out after him, tried desperately to find her voice, but no sound emerged. Elain spent an hour watching for movements in the shadows, feeling ever colder despite the sticky warmth of the night. Her stomach ached with unsatisfied yearning, her skin was clammy, and every muscle felt tight and wrong under her skin. She eventually fell into a fitful sleep. 


	4. Chapter 4

She awaited his next visit anxiously, but he didn't return the next night, or the one after that. Elain had taken to stowing her ring safely in her bedside drawer when she took to bed, just in case. How she had come to not only accept, but eagerly anticipate visitations from a shadowy creature of the night, she could only guess. Had someone conjectured such a thing mere days ago, she would have thought them deranged. But no matter how bizarre it was, she missed him. She _ached_ for him in a way she hadn't thought possible. 

 

By the third night, her body had screamed so insistently for release that she had even tried (unsuccessfully) to seek relief by her own hand, coming to the unfortunate realisation that this dark stranger knew her body better than she ever had - perhaps better than she ever could. More nights passed, and she tried to replicate this rhythm against her body to no avail, and her slender fingers were no substitute for his masculine hands, leaving her frustrated and emotional. She was sad that she could not even picture his face in her mind's eye. Elain conjured a hundred likenesses, with every one seeming inadequate: She only knew that he must be beautiful.

 

After all, weren't all fae? 

 

Given his reaction to the iron, her visitor had to have been fae. Feyre had told Nesta that iron didn't affect high fae the way humans were led to believe, but she had also said that there were also many different kinds of fae, and Elain reasoned that the myth had to originate somewhere. At first the thought had frightened her, but her sister had loved one of the creatures. Perhaps they were not all the monsters her fiancé believed them to be. Not that it mattered, she thought sadly, if he never returned to her.

 

Graysen had gone away on some kind of business for his father on the continent, and would be gone for a month or more. They would be wed imminently on his return, but until then she was merely left to wait. She had taken to spending less of her days in the garden (forbidden by the blazing sun that threatened to mar her beauty), and more in the library, reading her sister's books in an attempt to ease her frustrations. Nesta secretly harboured a liking for blush-inducing bodice rippers, but whilst her visitor had faded, the memory of his touch was as vivid as ever in her memory, and any fiction paled in comparison.

 

The library in their home had been largely left by the previous occupant when they purchased the house, and was comprehensive and well-organised. Consequently, when Elain went searching for something more varied than saccharine or sordid romance, she stumbled across a selection of dusty volumes with iron-bound spines. She read the title of the first.

_Daemonic Servants of the Faerie Realms: A Study - Vol 1_

The collection took up half a shelf all to itself. Elain scooped up a number of the volumes and took them to the nearby reading table, returning twice to collect the rest. She took off her house slippers and tucked her feet under her skirts as she had when reading as a child, and began to read.

 

An exceptionally long time later, the oil was burning low, but Elain's eyes continued to frantically scan the pages. She had been reading for hours, and each creature she had read about alone was enough to give her night terrors for months.

_"Bogge: A malevolent sprite that feasts upon the fear and anguish of those_ _who behold it. No human source has seen one and survived..."_

_"Naga: A foul hybrid of man and serpent with an insatiable appetite for the consumption and ruin of mortal flesh..."_

_"Martax: Pack animals comprising parts common to bear and lion, with teeth akin to predatory aquatic species. Unknown whether they kill humans for food or sport..."_

_"Illyrian: A warmongering and barbaric race. Physically potent and magically gifted, but too brutish to comprehend logic or reason. Renowned amongst even other fae species for their cruelty..."_

Each entry seemed more terrifying and awful than the last. These monsters freely roamed the lands her sister had returned to willingly? It made her decision, and the beliefs of the Children of the Blessed, even more incomprehensible. Elain was on the seventh volume now, and she was sure that there could be no worse horrors to be found, but then...

 

_"Incubus: An insubstantial creature that preys upon mortal women in erotic dreams, tainting them body and soul."_

Elain believed she felt her heart stop as she read that sentence. An Incubus. Could that be what her visitor was? She continued to read:

_"As the victim experiences sexual gratification, the incubus feeds on their energy to facilitate full manifestation. It is believed this enables them to feed on the unfortunate's essence, though few reliable sources exist."_

Something of that resonated with her. That first night, he had been no more than wisps of shadow, whereas the second he had form. But the idea of him feeding on her essence didn't seem right. She had felt him drawing something from her, true, but it was certainly not malevolent. If anything, it felt as if he was coaxing her own desire from her. It was freeing. She flicked to the front cover of the book quickly and frowned: Unsurprisingly, it was written by a man. Perhaps what he meant by _'few reliable sources exist'_ was that a man could not accept the word of a ruined woman as truth. Still, the account had given her a name for her visitor, perhaps some useful information could yet be derived:

_"Their forms are often described as unnaturally beautiful, sometimes echoing the appearance of past, present or future lovers of the victim. The creatures manifest possessing genitalia which are freezing, two-pronged or grotesquely outsized when engorged..."_

Elain's face reddened fiercely as she slammed the book shut. Maybe the book had exhausted its utility after all.


	5. Chapter 5

Elain set her earrings on her dresser, applied her face cream, and brushed her hair out. Clouds loomed outside the sky roiling like a beast rousing from centuries of slumber. She thought that tonight it might finally rain, cleansing the accursed heaviness from the air. Her roses had almost perished, and if she was right, tonight's rainfall might yet save them. 

 

She reached for her nightgown which her maid had left draped over the screen, but her hand stilled. In a moment of uncharacteristic impropriety, she considered sleeping unclothed. The scandal of the notion sent a little thrill through her, and she pulled her hand back. What could it hurt? With a tug on the laces and a shrug, her shift fell to the floor with a soft swish and she left it where it had landed, taking the few steps to her bed with more confidence than she felt. Elain couldn't recall the last time she had been exposed like this for longer than a few scarce seconds outside the bathing tub, and it was a singularly freeing feeling, but there was one remaining encumbrance on her that somehow felt more constricting than any other she wore (including the continental style corset that made her feel as if she would suffocate). She looked for a moment at the weighty iron band on her slight finger before easing it off and slipping it into her drawer. She felt instantly lighter without it but once the drawer closed with a satisfying click and it was hidden from view, it was like a burden had been fully lifted from her shoulders. 

 

Elain spent a while just stretching against the sheets, relishing the feel of the cool, soft cotton against her bare skin. Like inhaling a delicate scent from a flower, it was a gentle pleasure, and she made a small noise of contentment. Her body sang with the joy of it, and yet underlying her enjoyment was a now familiar sense of frustration. Ever since her shadowy visitor... incubus, if the book was to be believed... had left, her body had felt brittle, her skin itched and her stomach twisted. Her own hand had brought her no relief, though she had tried on several lonely nights. Tonight, she thought wistfully, would be no different, but she had to try. 

 

She tentatively slipped her hand beneath the sheets and into the silky hair at her sex. Her fingers ran the length of her slit, briefly pausing with each swipe to pay more attention to the nub at her apex as he had done. It felt nice, but lacked the earth-shattering passion of his touch, the rhythm that kept perfect time with her breath, the perfectly balanced pressure which was neither rough and tender, the _weight_ of him. As the thought of what his hands had wrought on her timed with a pass of her fingers, she let out a soft moan - the sound borne more of frustration than pleasure. 

 

There was a whip of wind that sounded out of place nestled among the sounds of the soft summer breeze, and Elain sat up to face the balcony. There was (to her disappointment) nothing to be seen at first, but slowly an outline emerged, and coalesced into a familiar dark form she had begun to think she would never see again. He seemed to be drinking in her nudity, and she did not conceal her smile as she watched him approach her. When he was close she reached for him, eager to feel the cool realness of him under her fingers, but his form rippled as he disappeared and reappeared a few inches backwards. She realised he was fearful, like a child who had touched fire and been burned by the flame. She raised her hand: Showing him that she no longer wore the ring, that she would not harm him. Cautiously, he leaned his palm forward, his fingers interlacing with hers, and she sighed at the comfort of his glacial touch. Elain wanted to beg his forgiveness, but no sound emerged when she went to speak. She touched her throat, and he simply shook his head. The book she had read said that while some species of fae become corporeal only once acknowledged - like the bogge - there existed others which can survive only in the quiet, and are banished by speech. Darkness was restful, and it made sense to her that this being of shadow would also be one of silence. While she wished she could speak to him, wondered if his voice would be as pleasing as his form, there was a beautiful simplicity in what passed between them. His fingers caressed hers softly, and she would have been swept up in that gentle touch, except that when he leaned in close, she noticed that his face was more defined than it had been before. Framed by that dark curtain of hair, where before there had been only featureless gloom, now there were sharp cheekbones. Full, soft lips that begged to be kissed. Arched brows over deep, soulful eyes... He was heart-achingly beautiful. She reached her free hand to sweep his hair back, just long enough to tuck behind his ear (which was rounded, to her surprise), and he sank into her touch like a contented cat.

 

When he moved in closer, it was her turn to back away. She couldn't help but call to mind what she had read: Stealing virtue, feeding on souls. Even those ludicrous sounding... physical attributes (that she refused to think about further). He had never given her reason to fear him, but what if she should? He seemed to sense her trepidation, and those fingers interlaced with hers freed themselves and traced lightly over her palm, her wrist, and back to the pads of her own fingertips. Elain's breath hitched at the intimacy and affection of the gesture, could hear the words it meant to convey: _'I won't hurt you, either. You're safe with me'._

 

When those full lips shifted to hers, her hesitation evaporated. His hand left hers to caress her face, tangle in her hair, and she let herself fall back against the mattress. He hovered over her, his hands skimming her body, and the cool touch of his fingers made her skin sing. _More_ , she wanted more. She pulled him down against her, desperate to feel his weight on her again, and he put up no resistance, seeming to relish the strength of her desire. His hand slid under her thigh, pulling it up around his hip, and she felt his hardness grind between her legs. Her eyes rolled back in her head it felt so good. His kisses trailed down her neck, the pressure varying from so delicate it barely brushed her skin to hard, insistent, bruising kisses against her pulse that took her breath away. 

 

As he moved, that hardness that had been teasing at the ache between her legs moved away, and she almost cried out in frustration at its absence. But then he began to lavish his attention on her breasts. Her nipples peaked against the chill of his breath, his touch, and she moaned as his mouth closed over one, tongue teasing at sensitive flesh as his hand kneaded around it. Her back arched to maintain contact when he withdrew for a moment, seeming to relish the sight of her flushed skin and the rapid rise and fall of her chest. He ran a hand down from her neck, down over the teased flesh of her breast, along the hollow of her hip, inches from where she wanted... no, _needed_ him to touch her. He did it again and she pressed up wantonly onto his touch. He pressed his body down against her, his mouth swallowing her gasp as he slid two fingers into her eager wetness. His thumb teased lightly at the spot that made her toes curl, and she thought she didn't imagine his satisfied exhale against her lips. This, _this_ was the sensation hours of frustrated trial and error couldn't replicate. His fingers worked in her relentlessly, coaxing her into delirium as his lips slid down her neck. His mouth roving her body was pure ecstasy, and she let out a whimper when that cold tongue teased at her nipple. However, he didn't pause to lavish his attention there, instead extending the trail of kisses along the hollow of her hipbone. 

 

When her list-addled brain discerned his intended direction, she blushed furiously scarlet. Elain's mind had objected vehemently - such a thing was the height of obscenity. It would be inappropriate even in a marriage bed, and she had only ever heard of it in cautionary tales against the carnal sins of the most depraved souls. But before she could voice her objection, she had realised how ridiculous she would sound, even to herself. She was not only in bed naked with a man out of wedlock, but with someone who could not be accurately be called a 'man' at all. Propriety suddenly seemed such an abstract notion in context. Still, as he withdrew his fingers (resulting in a sigh at their loss) and hooked his arm under her thigh, she was hesitant about his mouth... down there. It couldn't possibly feel good, could it? 

 

Every vestige of reservation disintegrated at the first experimental pass of his tongue. Gently, his lips kissed and teased her, before he delved his tongue deep through her soaked centre. Elain was suddenly glad her sister's chambers were so far away, as she let out a loud cry of pleasure and reached her hand out to grab the headboard. She was half right: It didn't feel good, it felt _rapturous_. He breathed softly and the cool air only served to enhance her sensitivity before he began to work her in earnest. She gripped the wood so hard her knuckles turned white, and mere moments after he had begun she was panting and sobbing with bliss. She felt him shift slightly and cried out again when he reinserted his fingers, pumping them in and out of her as his tongue lavished her apex. 

 

She felt the blooming heat coil tight in her stomach like a spring, and her breath quickened further. It felt like she was dying. Perhaps the books were right, and this was the incubus ripping her soul from her. Perhaps she would lose her mind, or even her life. But at this moment, she couldn't care less: Let him take what he would, as long as he didn't _stop_. His fingers curled inside her just as he sucked on her sweet spot, and her hand dove into his hair as she felt herself come apart. Stars exploded in her vision and violent shocks of white-hot pleasure racked her body. No-one had ever told her death would feel this incredible. He continued to work her through the spasms until she felt herself falling, her body limp and useless and her breath rasping. With a whisper of air, he vanished again, leaving her tingling and delirious. She was distantly aware of the rain that had started lashing at the windows in great torrents.

 

As her heartbeat slowed and her breathing quieted, she took stock. She was still alive. More alive than she had ever been, in fact. Moreover, her body had been cured of that aching frustration she had thought insatiable. She had known, of course, that women were physically capable of pleasure in sex, but had never imagined it feeling like _that._ Worse, the women who sought it were seen as wanton harlots at best, deranged hysterics at worst. Elain suddenly felt like she understood Feyre a little more - thought that perhaps if she had known then what she now knew, she might have sought premarital trysts of her own in haylofts. The notion should have made her feel ashamed, but it didn't. Instead, it only made her pity her married friends, who she had only heard talk in solemn whispers of a woman's marital duty as if it were burdensome. Her final thought as sleep took hold was that every woman should be so fortunate as to have an incubus for a lover. 

 

When Elain awoke the next morning - much more pleasant now that the oppressive heat and humidity had been alleviated by the storm - it was with a smile on her face. Her satisfaction had, however, given way to a pang of sadness as she put on her engagement ring. She would soon be a married woman, and she knew that her nocturnal encounters would have to come to an end when her husband slept by her side. She had wondered if Graysen would be a talented lover. She doubted he would be of the same calibre as her incubus - after all, it would be unfair to compare a human touch with that of an immortal whose sole purpose was desire - but she hoped he would care for her needs. He would expect her to be chaste and virginal, not to know any different, but she _did_ know different. Now that she did know how it could be, she didn't know how she would bear it if he gave her pleasure no consideration. She didn't feel guilty for sharing her nights with the incubus, or that Graysen would be deceived into getting a bride that wasn't wholly pure, though she knew she should feel remorse. Instead, she only felt a burning anticipation of seeing him again. It was only last night he had left her satiated in ways she didn't know she could be, but already she burned for him once more. Something told her that her that her desire for him would never be fully quenched until she lay with him. Whether that was because of the nature of incubus magic, because of the connection they had forged, or because of the sheer magnetism of him, she couldn't say, but everything in her being told her she needed him inside her, else she would never again find peace.

 

Tonight. She had decided it would be tonight.


	6. Chapter 6

When Elain took to bed that evening, she had butterflies in her stomach, but to her surprise, she did not feel trepidation - more like anticipation. She had been taught to expect that sexual congress was painful the first time, and logically this should make her nervous, but she knew in her heart that her phantom lover would not allow her to come to harm.

 

He usually visited her in that place between dreams and waking: A path which is difficult to travel when one's mind is so stimulated. As a result, sleep eluded her for some hours. Facing her open balcony had proved as maddening as watching a kettle and waiting for it to boil, and so she sighed in frustration and rolled to face in towards the room. Across the dimly lit space, she could make out her own image in the mirror above her dresser, and part of her wanted to turn back over rather than continue to face her reflection. She suddenly felt foolish, waiting for a figment to appear and ravish her. Perhaps the books had been right - perhaps she was mad. A single tear coursed down her cheek to land on her pillow, and the momentary blur of her vision meant she almost missed it.

 

Her reflection began to fade as he took form to lean casually against her dresser, growing more opaque until her golden hair no longer glinted through his silhouette. She noted as she sat up that he was much more distinct than he had been before. The panes of his chest and muscles of his shoulder were more defined, but what took her breath away were the wings: A great expanse of churning shadow emerging from his back. They shattered any and all illusion that he was a mere man, but she found herself more drawn to him with their addition, not less. He looked whole in a way he hadn't in their absence - strong and wild and beautiful...

They made her think of freedom.

When he made no move to approach her, she realised he was hesitant. Her heart broke a little as it dawned on her that he was allowing her to take in his true form - giving her the opportunity to reject him. Did he really not see how magnificent he was? In response, Elain simply pulled her sheet back in invitation, shifting herself slightly to make room for him.

 

When it was apparent she would not reject him for his true nature, he crossed the room in that now-familiar feline prowl, feet near-silent on the floorboards and wisps of shadow curling off of his form. Her heartbeat was palpable beneath her skin at his approach, the lean muscles of his chest flexing sinuously as he moved. When he reached the bed, he crawled on all fours towards her, capturing her in a fierce and passionate kiss that burned like frost, stole her breath, and left her boneless. Her yielding was immediate as he pressed his body against her and laid her back gently on the pillows, and she let out a sigh of satisfaction at the feel of his weight over her once more. He writhed over her, pressing his body hard against hers in a counterpoint to the barely-there caresses their first nights, sinking her into the mattress while featherlight touches skated across her skin that made her tremble. Where on previous nights he had been as gentle as a breeze, tonight it was as if he hungered for her: His passion rising to match her own fevered desire. His kisses roved down her neck, melting into her skin like snowflakes on sun-warmed ground. His hand pulled her hips up to grind bruisingly against his hard body just as he pressed a firm kiss into the hollow of her throat and a desperate keening sound she never would have recognised as her own rose from her throat and her hands shot up to pull him impossibly closer, as if their bodies could meld further through sheer will. In spite of the cool shadows, she burned under his touch, and when his hand snaked between them to tease at her sex, she writhed impatiently.

 

Maddeningly, he wouldn't be rushed even in his passion, and he delighted in coaxing her open slowly like a bud in springtime. Only when his fingers were coated in her slick would he even tease her entrance, dipping in only as far as his first knuckle before withdrawing. Had she been able to speak, she would have begged him. Eventually he sank to the second, only pressing fully inside when she was panting in desperation. His thumb brushed gently over her apex as his lips ghosted over hers and she shivered, feeling that similar taut sensation building in her core as she had the night before. At the brink of ecstasy, he withdrew his hand, her whine of disappointment echoing in the silence for a moment before she felt him shift above her, aligning their bodies. Her momentary unease was swallowed by his fervent kisses, and she gasped at the sensation as he began to slowly (so slowly) fill her. There was a sharp pinch as she felt her maidenhead break, but the hurt was quickly soothed by the coolness of him. When finally she felt him still as he was fully seated, she loosed a breath she hadn't known she was holding and savoured the feeling of him inside her.

 

If she had thought the feeling of him inside her was bliss, that was before he had started moving. When he first pulled back, he withdrew almost completely before plunging himself back inside her. When he was completely inside her again, he ground his pelvic bone against her apex and her eyes rolled back in ecstasy. When he repeated the motion a second time, she thought she might die if he didn't continue. By the third, she had lost herself to the feeling and brought her hips up to meet his, awed by the way his breath seemed to stutter against her skin when she did. His pace quickened a little and she surrendered herself to the rhythm he set - her breathing and heartbeat speeding to match as if her body was made to meld with his.

 

Her hands sought to explore him as he created paradise in her, and her touch ran over his form, over his soft skin and hard panes of muscle, and up to the expanse of shadowy wings that were indescribably beautiful. He released another stuttered breath as her fingers splayed over the rough membrane and sought her lips in another searing kiss when she gripped him tight in response. Her whole body burned with need, and she felt close to rapture once more. Seeming to sense this, he broke the kiss to look down at her as his hand slid between their bodies to seek the apex of her thighs. When his cool fingers brushed over her, she came undone under his gaze as he seemed to drink in her pleasure. Her release spurred his own, and with a soft sigh, he rushed into her, his eyes conveying everything words could not between them. She felt the goodbye in her soul, and her heart lurched as she somehow knew this was the last time she would see him. He smiled at her reassuringly and stroked her face with a tenderness that broke her heart. With a kiss as soft as a sigh, he dissipated like smoke on a breeze, and she was alone once more.

 

\----

 

As anticipated, Elain didn't see her incubus again. Days turned into weeks, and then months. Still she had the strangest feeling that his time with her was not cut short, but rather was as it should have been. She does not mourn his absence, but instead keeps her memories of him close to her heart, and the memory of his cool touch warms her on lonely nights. When her sister returned from Prythian, she did so flanked by three winged warrior fae, one of whom wore a very familiar face shrouded in shadow. Elain smiled - perhaps dreams did come true after all.


End file.
